


How NOT to be discreet

by bambabam



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Behind the Scenes, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Ducks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 12:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambabam/pseuds/bambabam
Summary: Everyone just kind of assumes that Aziraphale and Crowley are together. (5+1 things)





	How NOT to be discreet

**Author's Note:**

> I have an exam tomorrow but. I love them so much.

**[1]**

It started off simply enough.

"And what does your _friend _think?" Burbage asked, brow raised in challenge. The smaller man glanced at the black-clad man beside him before looking back at Burbage, a blush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh, he's not my friend," the light-haired man stumbled, struggling to feign his innocence (and failing speactacularly), "we don't know each other. We've never met before." he added awkwardly, clearing his throat and looking away from the playwright's and Burbage's scrutinizing gaze.

The said red-haired man, however, smirked widely, canine flashing dangerously. "I think you should get on with the play," he sniggered, neither confirming nor denying his not-friend's statement, and so the play continued, albeit Burbage's hesitancy— but William Shakespeare was no longer focused at his stroke of genius. 

The odd twosome robbed him of his attention since the dark-clad man swerved towards the man in all white. Since then, the playwright had kept an eye out for them, scanning and observing from a short distance. (William had an eye for art, after all, and he was just _sure_ that what the pair had going on between them was a beautifully crafted masterpiece.) 

William did not miss how the latter's demeanor changed since the former's arrival; how the light-haired man's eyes seemed to sparkle when they spoke, and how the red-haired man seemed to smile a special kind of smile when he gazed at the other. William did not miss how each man's every move, every word had been screaming _affection _and _adoration _for each other, but of course William did not miss the barrier between them, alienating themselves from their true feelings within.

_Two people, whose afflictions lie on opposing sides, __harboring forbidden love for each other. _The gears in William's head started to turn.

(A good few years later, Aziraphale and Crowley watched _Romeo and Juliet_ for the first time, totally oblivious from their influence on Shakespeare's work.)

**[2]**

_Oi, look, it's them_, one of the ducks quacked excitedly to his fellow ducks and at once, all of the aquatic birds' attentions were on the odd yet wholly familiar pair seated on their chair. The white-haired man was sitting upright, back rigid and shoulders rigid— as usual— and the red-haired one sprawled lazily across the chair, an arm resting at the top of the backrest and a leg crossed over the other— also as usual. _They're back!_

_Bloody hell, not again, _another duck quacked, her tone suggesting irritation, but the knowing glimmer in her eyes suggested otherwise. She wiggled and waddled her way towards the now-bantering pair, staring at the two with wild interest._You think they finally grew the balls to confess?_

The ducks watched, completely enraptured as the two converse and talk between themselves. One duck shook his head, giving the two a scrutinizing, almost pitiful look. _Nah. Impossible._

Another harrumphed, quacking irately. _Honestly, it's been decades— centuries, even. What are they even waiting for?_

_The end of the world, probably._ The black duck remarked. The other ducks quacked in agreement.

They watched in silence as "Crowley" stood up, circled around the other man like a vulture before sauntering off. "Angel" glanced after him, a longing look on his face as he leaned ever the slightest towards the man stomping away, before he sighed, shoulders slumping as he forced himself to look away and stare dejectedly at the ground instead. The ducks all groaned in sync.

_Bloody idiots, _the animals sighed, swimming away from the pair and up to a man throwing them some seeds.

**[3]**

"Where's your ring, nanny?" Warlock had randomly asked one time, yawning as Nanny Ashtoreth tucked him under his blankets for the night. Her hand on the blanket halted, blinking behind her sunglasses as she tilted her head and looked at the young Son of Satan with confusion.

"What ring, dear?" said the nanny softly, voice just a small bit above a whisper. Warlock yawned, again, this time closing his eyes and rubbing them with his small hands.

"Your wedding ring, Nanny," the young boy replied, drowsiness seeping into his words. "Brother Francis has his on his p-pinky." 

If he hadn't been too busy rubbing his eyes, he would have seen Nanny Ashtoreth's jaw slack with shock as a red tint slowly but fully covered her cheeks. She cleared her throat, closing her gaping mouth as she muddled over a reply.

"Now where did you get that idea, you silly devil-spawn?" The red-haired woman asked haughtily, her voice sounding strangled and forced. She looked away from Warlock's questioning look, swallowing thickly. The child merely shrugged in reply.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Brother Francis has a ring like mommy's, and I think he likes you very much, and—" Warlock yawned, again, "—and I—I think you like him very much, too."

Nanny Ashtoreth went silent. Her cheek twitched, lips pursing into a thin line as she looked down on Warlock's sleepy form, looking as though she was contemplating to do something unsavory before she finally sighed, shoulders slackening as she opted to run her fingers through the child's messy hair isntead.

"We—" she started, mouth pursing into a thin line as she choked over her words. After a few moments of contemplation, she sighed, rubbing a tired hand over her face as she shook her head slightly. "We're not married, Warlock," she finally said, voice a mere murmur and a twinge of something strange on her shaky voice betraying the smile on her face as she leaned in to kiss the boy's forehead. "Brother Francis doesn't— _can't_ like me. Not even close, love. Too much time on the gardens has messed up your brain. You should go to _sssssleep_."

Warlock immediately slackened against her hand with a snap of Nanny Ashtoreth's trembling fingers. She hurriedly left after that, cheeks tinted red and an unreadable expression plastered on her face and was unable to hear Warlock mumble "love is okay" as sleep took his consciousness away.

("_Children_," Nanny Ashtoreth later scoffed, glaring at her reflection and muttering curses under her breath when the damned blush won't fade from her cheeks. She scowled, splashing her face multiple times with cool water, deliberately ignoring the fluttering in her stomach as the word _married _echoed on her mind, along with the smiling face of a white-haired, book-loving angel. She shook her head, slapping her cheeks twice, the butterflies in her stomach worsening by the second as she screamed bloody murder at her palms.)

**[4]**

Jason was just walking by, minding his own business when he heard it— the unmistakable words of a heavy and painful breakup.

"—and when I'm off in the stars, I won't even _think _about you!" The lanky red-haired man said, voice cracking with desperation and hurt overridden by anger. Jason looked up just in time to see a man storming off in his vintage car, all the while leaving another man looking bedraggled and confused and hurt behind the trail of the car's smoke.

Seeing the pained look on the other man was like having someone rip Jason's heart to a tiny million pieces. Jason sobered up, puffed his chest, and clapped the white-haired man's shoulder.

"I've been there. You're much better off without him," Jason said forlornly, gripping the other man's shoulder sympathetically. The white-haired man's eyes flicked over to his, but he saw only even more confusion and conflict swimming into the bright blue eyes of the man.

_He'll understand someday, _Jason thought to himself, taking his hand off the man's shoulder after he patted them once more. He's done his job, but now the other man has to finish what Jason had started. _He'll thank me later._

Jason walked away with a new bounce on his step, happy that he was able to help, somehow.

\---------

Aziraphale could only gape at the strange man's retreating back, ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks and the flutter in his stomach at the latter's implication. Aziraphale shook his head, gulping away the tingly feeling inside his chest. 

Human beings were so odd sometimes.

(It didn't help that the archangel Michael later called Crowley his "_boyfriend_" before unceremoniously punching Aziraphale in the gut. Now Aziraphale isn't so sure if the lead in his stomach was because of the impact of Michael's fist, the fact that even the archangels called Crowley akin to Aziraphale's _lover_, the fact that Crowley left, or the fact that Armageddon was literally a hair's reach away.) 

**[5]**

Crowley blinked hard under his sunglasses. He turned to glance over at the man sitting opposite him, and nearly cackled himself to the floor at the completely gobsmacked look on the angel's face. Crowley smothered his laugh (quite badly) behind an odd-sounding cough.

"Well yes, it _is_ our anniversary today," The demon hummed, still struggling to hold back his laughter. Aziraphale made a choking sound, gaping wordlessly at Crowley's offhand (and extremely false) remark. The waiter nodded, scribbling something on his notebook before pushing the tray with the lidded plate to the pair's table. 

"It's on the house," the waiter explained, seeing the look on Aziraphale's face. "We have a promo this month, you see." He smiled at the pair, uncovering the lid to reveal a grand-looking slice of a velvet cake, with the words "_Happy Anniversary, from the Ritz_" beautifully written in pink icing along the edge of the plate.

"You can just drop it there," Crowley said, a lopsided grin worming its way on his face. He tipped his wine glass over and tilted his head to the waiter as thanks, who bowed politely before leaving their table in a hurry. Crowley took a small sip from his glass and gave Aziraphale a not-so-discreet side glance. 

The angel was still flabbergasted, looking at the cake and at Crowley's face and then back at the cake, his cheeks coloring light pink. Crowley didn't bother resisting the laugh that had been bubbling inside him for the past few minutes, which warranted an embarrassed and betrayed glare from Aziraphale.

"What on _Earth_ did you do that for?" Aziraphale spluttered, flushing as he gaped at the delicious-looking dessert. Crowley merely shrugged in reply, his sniggers slowly fading to his signature devilish (ha) grin. 

"Can you blame me? It's free," the demon drawled, smirking as he scooped a piece of the cake with his fork and popped it in his mouth. He wiggled his brows suggestively, laughing again when he saw Aziraphale look at him sharply and then at the cake crossly, his face clouded with conflicting embarrassment and interest. "—and delicious, apparently. Come on, Angel. Don't act like you don't want one."

Aziraphale shook his head, refusing to look at either Crowley or the dessert, muttering "serpent" under his breath and glaring at Crowley as he did. Crowley simply rolled his eyes, bringing another piece of cake to his mouth. "Whatever you say, Angel."

(Aziraphale eventually gave in and ate approximately three-fourths of the slice, and then some. Crowley had never looked as smug as that night, ever.)

**[+1]**

"I just don't understand," Aziraphale ranted, looking sullenly at his teacup as he crossed his arms across his chest, lips arching to a frown. "Why do people keep assuming that Crowley and I are in a _relationship_? Preposterous!" 

Anathema merely nodded along, eyes wandering away from the pouting man and into the doorway where Newton stood awkwardly, a hand stuffed into his pocket while the other fiddled and pushed his glasses up his nose. His eyes met hers, and she found herself mirroring his shy smile once he sent a small wave at her. "Uh-huh," she hummed absent-mindedly, smiling still as she broke off eye-contact before glancing back at Aziraphale, who was looking critically at her for an answer. Anathema nodded once more, to the man's comfort, and took a bite of the cookie that Adam's mother had sent them that morning.

"I can't count how many have had done that— that one odd fellow on the street, Pepper, Madame Tracy— the archangel Michael, even!" Aziraphale continued his irate tirade, the creases on his forehead deepening as he slouched against his chair even more, fully scowling now as he gave the innocent cup a glare, as though it was the one at fault for his dilemma. "_Michael! _How on _earth_ did that thought even—" he paused, uncrossing his arms to flail them a few times in the air in his frustration, before huffing and crossing them back to resume his sulking. "I really do _not_ understand!"

"Warlock too, Angel," Crowley supplied, suddenly appearing in the room and bending down to press a chaste kiss on Aziraphale's forehead, to which the wrinkles smoothed immediately at. Crowley chuckled as he straightened up, gazing down at the seated Aziraphale, affection seeping from his loving stare and into the entirety of the room. "Asked where his nanny's wedding ring was," The red-haired man laughed, "bright child, that one." Aziraphale smiled back, looking at Crowley with what were practically heart-eyes.

"I wonder where he got it from," the angel said, beaming. Crowley laughed, ruffling Aziraphale's hair as he strolled past him.

"From the good gardener, I hear," crooned Crowley, grinning. "Anyway, Dick Turpin needs some fixing. Newton and I are going to attempt a miracle outside, so don't be shocked if something explodes."

Aziraphale laughed and nodded, waving at the demon good-bye. "Stay safe, my dear!" He called, eyes crinkling as his loving gaze followed Crowley's retreating back until it went out of sight. Once Crowley was out the door, the angel, with a ghost of a smile still lingering in his lips, turned to face Anathema, who merely had a deadpanned look plastered on her face.

"Yeah, I wonder why," she commented dryly, taking a sip of her tea.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAA THEY MAKE ME SO SOFT I LOVE THEM!!! god i have an exam tomorrow what am i doing amdnjsjs 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this!! Kudos and comments are always very appreciated!! <3


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